


Haunted

by tess_genor



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Claremont Needs Better Security, Crying, Emotional Manipulation, Episode Related, Gen, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25521781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess_genor/pseuds/tess_genor
Summary: Malcolm knows that visiting his father is never a good idea, yet he still goes back. Martin knows that Malcolm is a threat, yet he still allows his son to get close. After Martin recovers from getting stabbed, he needs to find a way to fix his relationship with Malcolm, but Malcolm has something very different in mind. A different kind of closure.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by tinkerbrittt's beautiful video [malcolm & martin || haunted](https://youtu.be/mQ1yjWN_Z3Q). This video floored me and I couldn't focus on anything else until I had this done. I hope you like it!

The thin red line on the floor is all that separates Malcolm from Dr. Whitly, his father. Well, that red line and dozens of murders. All it took was one night for Malcolm’s father to be ripped from him. In that one night, Dad became Dr. Whitly, a role model became a monster, and Malcolm’s perfect life became a nightmare.

Martin stands on the other side of the room, close to the wall so that he can hide the tether coiled on the floor in his shadow, mirroring Malcolm’s posture in the door. The two of them stare at each other, neither of them willing to take the first step forward towards each other, towards mending their relationship.

Malcolm has always been a threat to Martin. What started out as mild concern twenty years ago quickly turned into full blown fear ever since Malcolm stabbed Martin. Martin thought that allowing Malcolm to stab him, in a way that they both knew he would come out relatively unharmed, would put his mind at ease, he would continue to live comfortably in the “penthouse” of Claremont, but all it did was make Martin’s lung seize when his son set foot into the cell.

On that fateful camping trip, Malcolm proved that he would kill to protect himself. Martin had been proud of him; Malcolm showed promise of becoming just like his father, and Martin was willing to allow Malcolm to live in order for him to figure it out. But now, Martin regrets letting Malcolm live more than ever. The way Malcolm casts his eyes to the floor, away from Martin, puts him on edge. Malcolm has a taste for it now.

”Are you here to finish the job?” Martin doesn’t open with his normal, cheery greeting. Malcolm willingly entered the lion’s den and there’s no way Martin is going to put up a farce. Not while the other person in the room is a threat.

”How could you say that?” Malcolm finally looks up. His eyes shimmer with tears that he refuses to let fall. He won’t let Martin see how much his presence still affects him. He refuses to be another person that Martin can expertely play. Malcolm knows how people like Dr. Whitly think. Malcolm should be able to control himself. He can’t keep letting Martin have power over him.

”I saw your face, Malcolm.” Martin steps forward and Malcolm flinches. He steps back into the glass door behind him. Martin didn’t call him his boy, he’s just Malcolm. Not a relative, not a possession that Martin would protect. “You were steeled and ready to kill your old man. I figure that you’re here to actually go through with it.” Martin smiles, but it’s not warm, it’s filled with menace. Martin plans to stay as far away from that fragile, red line as possible. If Malcolm wants to get to him, he’s going to have to cross over into Martin’s territory.

”You have me all figured out, don’t you?” Malcolm swallows harshly. Martin watches his Adam's apple bob as Malcolm forces down all the emotions that threaten his plan.

”I am your father. I know how you think.” Martin puffs out his chest. Malcolm never liked authority, if Martin can keep pushing those buttons he can get the rise out of Malcolm that he so desperately wants.

”Do you?” Malcolm flashes a smile back at Martin. He takes a step forward. Martin holds his ground, but his smile falters when he sees Malcolm let a scalpel fall from the sleeve of his jacket into his hand.

”It would seem that I do.” Martin huffs. “Really, do you think you can hurt me? The only reason you were able to get to me last time is because I _allowed_ it.” His chest rises and falls with anger. The thought of his son turning against him, of Malcolm trying to lift himself out of the darkness that he plunged the whole family into, that Malcolm truly thinks that he can best Martin. It’s infuriating.

”You really think I’m here to kill _you_?” Malcolm grits out. He has a headache from how tightly he clenches his jaw. He hasn’t slept in days, less than usual. He keeps replaying how easy it was for him to stab Martin. How he did it without a second thought. How good it felt to push the ice pick deep into Martin’s chest. How satisfying it was to hear Martin’s scream.

”I know you are.” The chains around Martin’s wrists rattle. He doesn’t know if it’s in fear or excitement. Malcolm pushes the scalpel back into his sleeve.

”You don’t know me as well as you think. You’ve been in here.” Malcolm waves a hand around the cell. He tries his best to stay neutral, but he knows that Martin heard his voice break.

”And whose fault is that?” Martin roars. He won’t take a guilt trip from the boy that put him behind bars. The little boy who ruined everything. “You’re the one that put me here, _boy_. You tore your family apart. You couldn’t mind your business. You wanted to help, but all you did was make things worse. That poor girl in the box, she’ll never be found because you had to step in. How many deaths are on your conscience? You could’ve stayed blissfully unaware. You could’ve had the perfect family, the perfect life. But, no. You think that you’re a savior, when all you do is _kill_. It’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

”Stop! Stop that’s not true!” Malcolm screams. The tears he fought so hard to hold back spill down his face. Malcolm’s angry, he’s miserable, he’s broken. “You ended up here all on your own. You ruined our family. This is all your fault. I never killed anyone, that was all you!” Malcolm nearly crosses over the line, thankfully, he catches himself at the last minute. Martin glances at his son’s hand, shaking by his side. He knows he’s won.

”If I ruined the family, then why are you here? Why do you visit me? Why do you come back every time?” Martin stalks forward with each word. Malcolm has never felt more trapped. It feels like he’s the one who has been stuck in this room for two decades, not his father.

”We’re done. Goodbye, Dr. Whitly.” Malcolm turns his back on his father. He goes to knock on the glass to signal that he’s done visiting. Still, Malcolm hesitates. He didn’t even get to say his piece. The whole reason for why he was here. The visit has been a waste of time so far, there’s so much that’s being left unsaid.

”Don’t leave me.”

It catches Malcolm off guard.

”Excuse me?” Malcolm looks over his shoulder. Martin sinks on to his cot and hangs his head.

”You’re my lifeline to the world, Malcolm. I can’t breathe when you leave. You’re my one joy. Please. Don’t leave me. Not like this. Don’t leave because you’re angry with me. You already pierced my heart, don’t break it as well.” Martin forces himself to meet Malcolm’s eyes. Malcolm looks so much like how Martin did at that age. Looking at his son, it’s like looking into a mirror. A warped and fractured mirror that highlights everything wrong with the two of them.

”Why should I believe you? I can’t trust anything you say. You’ll say anything to get me to stay. To keep me under your thumb.” Malcolm turns away and rests his head against the door. The feel of the cool glass against his forehead is enough to ground him. To pull him back to himself.

”I mean every word I say to you, Malcolm.” Martin’s voice is soft. Like when Martin was gentle and not scary and nothing more than Malcolm’s dad. Just like how it used to be when he was putting Malcolm to bed when he was drowsy from the chloroform.

”What’s wrong with us?” Malcolm whispers to himself. He doesn’t care if Martin hears it. They both know that what they have is unhealthy at best and damning at worst.

”I thought that’s why you joined the FBI? So you could answer that question.” Martin shifts on the bed. He’s never mentioned Malcolm's previous career. It’s a sore spot for the both of them.

”As much as I learned, I never figured it out. I thought I could. I thought I could still find my father under the monster, but all I did was lose myself. I’m swimming in diagnoses just like you.” Malcolm faces his father once more. “You know, you’re all I ever wanted. I just wanted my dad back. I want for everything to be normal and easy. Like how it used to be.”

”It sounds like you want peace. But nothing is ever easy, Malcolm. When you’re a child everything is so simple. I understand you wanting to go back to that, for many reasons.” Martin’s voice is quiet. He always knows just what to say and how to say it. Malcolm almost believes him. He wants to.

Malcolm begins to pace. He stays on the correct side of the line, but with every pass he moves closer to it. The soles of his shoes squeak whenever he spins to walk back in the other direction. Malcolm is thinking and Martin is willing to wait him out. He watches his son tiptoe the line that separates the two of them. Suddenly, Malcolm begins to sob.

”Everything hurts. I can’t- Oh my god. I’m not happy. I haven't been happy in so long. I keep coming back here because I tell myself that you can take all my pain away. That _something_ will get resolved and I can walk out of here a little lighter than when I entered.” Malcolm hugs his hands into his chest. It’s an attempt to cover his shaky breathing.

”Come here.” Martin scoots closer to the head of the cot. He pats the space he cleared for Malcolm. “It’s okay. Just sit with me. We can pretend everything is normal.” Malcolm rolls his eyes. Of course Dr. Whitly would see that as a solution.

”I can’t. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have told you all of that. I need to go. I need-” Malcolm grows more frantic with each sentence. His voice grows higher and louder. He’s talking himself into a panic.

”Please, Malcolm. I don’t want to lose you again. Come sit with your father. I can sing to you. That used to always calm you down.” Martin is grasping for straws. All of the options here are terrible. Malcolm could walk out on Martin or kill him.

”Dr. Whitly, do you know how bad my night terrors are? Are you aware that my PTSD gives me hallucinations? That the girl in the box? She haunts me. There’s not one aspect of my life that isn’t tarnished by you. I just want it all to stop!”

Finally, Malcolm surges forward. He rushes past the red line and collapses at his father’s feet. Clinging to Martin like a child, Malcolm cries harder. He buries his face into Martin’s knees and the fabric grows heavy with tears. Martin is too shocked to do anything but stare down at his son in confusion and fear. Martin hasn’t seen Malcolm so vulnerable in years.

”My boy, what’s wrong?” Tentatively, Martin slips his hand under Malcolm’s chin and forces him to look up.

”I didn’t come here to kill _you_. I came here to ask you to kill _me_.” For the second time this year, Malcolm finds himself on his knees, begging to be shown mercy.

Malcolm can’t stand to live another day. He’s not safe from Martin, and now he isn’t safe for others to be around. All it took was one quick push for Malcolm to discover he didn’t hate the adrenaline that came with killing. He should’ve known he’d enjoy it from when he took Nico’s hand off. But he found out too late, now Malcolm needs to end it all. The night terrors, the hallucinations, the fear, the pain, it all can stop. And there’s only one man Malcolm trusts to end it.

”You want me to kill you?” Martin speaks slowly. He’s testing out each word before he lets the sentence form. Pausing to give Malcolm the time he needs to back out before everything is out there and neither of them can take it back.

”Please.” Malcolm removes the scalpel from his jacket again. He hands it over to Martin. Unlike with Jin, his hand doesn’t shake this time. Malcolm wants the blade in his father’s command. “Finish what you started all those years ago. Kill me. Do it, please. I’m begging you.”

Malcolm’s blue eyes are glassy. His cheeks are shiny with tears. Yet, Martin does nothing. How can he? When Malcolm found out that Martin was going to kill him Malcolm had been furious, felt betrayed. Now, here he is _begging_ to die by Martin’s hands. His poor son is so broken, but killing him won’t solve anything. It’s not a solution like it was all those years ago.

”Malcolm,” Martin chuckles nervously, “you can’t possibly mean that. That won’t do either of us any good.”

Malcolm stares deep into Martin’s eyes. They’re practically dead. There’s no lively spark behind them. No glimmer to show that Martin is having fun. Even the scalpel in Martin’s hand catches the lighting better than his cold eyes. Martin’s eyes are blank. Nothing more than a small mirror for Malcolm to stare back at his own face covered in pain.

”You’re the Surgeon. Come on! _Please._ Dad, please. Kill me. You wanted to when I was little, nothing has changed. You can get your revenge. Please, please. I don’t want to live like this.” Malcolm’s hand shoots out. Before Martin can react, Malcolm covers Martin’s wrist and brings the scalpel to his throat, jerking Martin forward.

Martin does his best to keep his hand steady, but Malcolm’s tremor is strong. With every flinch Martin worries that Malcolm is going to take his own life. Martin is calm, he’s had people at his feet with a knife to their throat many times before. Malcolm on the other hand is borderline manic. His eyes are blown wide and his lips are drawn back in an unsettling smile. Malcolm wants this.

Eyes closed, Malcolm waits for it. He waits for his father to move, to do something, anything. Malcolm can picture it; the fragile line across his throat to match the red line a few feet from the door. Another badge of Martin’s violence. Malcolm’s familiar with the sharp sting of a scalpel, he knows the blade will move easily across his throat.

”What are you waiting for? Do it.” Malcolm leans forward, pushing his throat closer to his father’s hand. “Do it!”

”No. I won’t.” Martin twists his hand free of Malcolm’s grasp and drops the scalpel on the bed. “I didn’t kill you then and I won’t kill you now.”

”But why?” Malcolm lays his head in Martin’s lap. “Why won’t you?”

”Because, you’re my son.” Martin says simply and Malcolm starts to sob all over again.

It seems like Malcolm kneels there for hours. Arms wrapped around his father’s legs, shaking in his lap, and crying. Martin does his best to comfort his son. He smooths his hair down and speaks softly. Whenever Malcolm breaks his silence to say that he doesn’t want to live, Martin shushes him and says “I know” as gently as he can.

”It’s alright, my boy, Dad’s got you. Let it out. It’s okay. I’m here for you.” Martin cradles Malcolm. His poor boy. Martin hates to see his son so broken up like this.

After a while, Malcolm tries to stand, and grimaces as his knees crack. Martin helps him onto the bed. The two of them sit with their backs against the wall, leaning on each other. There’s only a few minutes left of visiting hours, but Martin and Malcolm plan to make the most of it.

Martin slips the scalpel beneath the mattress and Malcolm takes his hand. For these last minutes, the two Whitly men are happy to pretend that everything is okay. That years haven’t separated them and that neither of them have done things that any ordinary person would be ashamed of or horrified by. They pretend that everything is normal. Maybe it’s a mistake, but it’s easy to pretend, and it’s a small comfort for the both of them. They pretend that they’re back in their home, resting, and enjoying each other's company on a lazy day off. They’ll pretend until it’s time for Malcolm to leave and Martin has to watch him walk away. Reality will come crashing down around them, but until then, they’ll take comfort in the lies they tell themselves.


End file.
